If They Only Knew: Diary Of A Woman With Two Lovers

As you navigate the matters of your heart, wouldn’t it be nice to get a little advice, or at least a glimpse into someone else’s love life, if only to reflect on how crazy/awesome/dysfunctional/OK your relationship is? Well, dear reader, we would never let you down. Let us introduce to you Mahogany Rose. She’s a beautiful, educated young woman living in New York City who’s in a committed relationship—with two different men…who don’t know about each other. Each of her lovers brings joy—and drama—to her life, offering what the other can’t or won’t. What’s a girl to do? Join Mahogany as she navigates love’s landscape.

*****

It’s almost midnight. Stan and I are just getting back to the five-floor Harlem walk-up I call home after dinner at my favorite restaurant. As we near the steps to begin our trek to my apartment on the fourth floor, it suddenly dawns on me: His picture is still shoved under my mattress. In a panic, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. ”I have to pee,” I say and began to take the steps three at a time until I make it to my floor. I knew I had a good 15-minutes before Stan made it up the stairs—between his rotund size and age (at 52, he’s old enough to be my father), I could take a shower, a nap, and watch an episode of the The Game before he even made it up the first flight. Nevertheless, I unlock the door and make it inside my apartment, rush to my bedroom, snatch his framed 8×10 from underneath my mattress and put it in it’s rightful place on my bookshelf (as an avid reader, it’s the centerpiece of my bedroom). All is well when I hear him coming through the door breathing heavily, complaining about his bad leg.

Right now, you’re probably a little confused about what’s going on, so I’ll explain. My name is Mahogany Rose, and I’m a small town girl who moved to NYC with big dreams and aspirations. (The move wasn’t made in vain, as I’ve accomplished many of my goals since relocating here, but more on that later.) More importantly, I’m juggling relationships with two men both of whom I love, but in different ways. There’s the aforementioned Stan, who I’ve been with for two years. He’s somewhat of a celebrity, although his heyday has long since passed. Nevertheless, he still commands respect and manages an active career as an entertainer. As for what he’s like as a person, he’s an Aries in every sense of the word. He’s quick-witted and confident (sometimes a little too confident), adventurous and bold, and for a man who qualifies for an AARP membership, his sexual appetite is insatiable. (I often wonder if a certain little blue pill is a part of his daily routine…I mean honestly, I know 25-year-olds who can’t compete!!)

That brings me back to Stan’s picture—it’s a reflection of how selfish he can sometimes be when we aren’t between the sheets. Although he’s married (oh, did I forget to mention that?), he insists my world revolve around him, and that includes my displaying this damn picture in my bedroom. He doesn’t want me dealing with anyone else, and has told me in no uncertain terms that it’s over if I do. Obviously, there’s never been a good time to tell him about Jamie, who I’ve been dating for a year-and-a-half and call my “real boyfriend.” But as the saying goes, “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” and I’m damn good at keeping secrets.

As Stan shuffles towards my bedroom on his bad leg, I take one last cursory glance around to make sure I haven’t overlooked anything Jamie may have left the last time he spent the night. The sheets are heavy with Jamie’s cologne—I didn’t get a chance to change them—but I wasn’t too worried. Stan’s penchant for weed meant the room would smell like a reggae festival as soon as he entered. Once Stan finally makes it to my boudoir (I’ve loved that word every since I heard Blanche use it in an episode of that old show The Golden Girls), he slyly checks out of the corner of his eye to see if his picture is where it always is, and collapses on my bed. His heavy breathing quickly turns to snoring and I let out a sigh of relief knowing the combination of a heavy Italian meal and three flights of stairs has saved me from lying about it being that time of the month again. (I try my best to allow some time to pass in between sexual encounters with each man, but how they haven’t noticed my period is sometimes on for weeks at a time is beyond me.) I go back into the living room, grab the remote, plop down on the couch and turn on the television to see if I could catch a marathon of The Golden Girls, all the while making plans in my head to see Jamie that weekend.

*****

If only reality TV was actually this real. Stay tuned for more from our “If They Only Knew: Diary Of A Woman With Two Lovers” series by Mahogany Rose.

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